The Lord of Winterfell
by Spiff's Oliphaunt
Summary: A single arrow changes the fate of Westeros.
1. Ygritte I

_Special thanks to bluegoldrose for betaing throughout the story._

 _Image Credit goes to StefTastan on DeviantArt_

 _This piece is largely based on the books, although elements of the show do appear. Namely, Ygritte is more based on her show character, since she was more strongly defined._

 **YGRITTE**

Jon Snow was gone.

One moment, he was hesitating before the old man Ygritte had just killed for him. The next, a grey direwolf had leapt out of nowhere and attacked the Thenns. In the chaos, Jon had fled, cutting his way out through the Thenns and leaping onto the man's horse. Ygritte had called out to him, but he rode off, never looking back. She had tried to shoot the horse down as she chased after him, but couldn't stop him from leaving them, from leaving _her_.

 _Why would 'e do this to me? Why, Jon?_ Yes, he had been a crow, but Ygritte thought he was loyal to her. They had marched together, hunted together south of the Wall, and warmed each other many a night. She knew he had doubts about being free once, but she thought they had left his mind. It was the shock about how wrong she was that made her want to kill Jon as much as his betrayal.

Jon hadn't killed her, that first time they met in the Frostfangs, though he and his crow brother had already killed the other two men with her. Instead, he took her captive. When the murdering crow Qhorin Halfhand told him to "Do what needs to be done," she expected that it would be the end for her. But even then, Jon had spared her. Later, she had joined Rattleshirt's band, and they had cornered Jon, along with Qhorin. She'd spoke up for him when Rattleshirt insisted they gut him, and Jon had killed the Halfhand for them. She had spent almost every day since with Jon, and when Mance ordered Jon south, she went with him.

She recalled the first time she lay with him, shortly after they left the Fist. He had been reluctant at first, and a little clumsy, but he proved to be good, better than most. _Better than I expected from a crow_. He was gentler than most wildlings, though no less passionate; they had made love three times that night, and once more in the morning.

She remembered that cave they had found, shortly before they climbed the Wall, and the time they spent inside it, and inside each other. It was as if they were the only two people in the world. _And 'e did that thing, with 'is tongue._ It was then she had realized that Jon was more than just a "good fuck"; she cared for him, and he for her. _We should 'ave stayed together in that cave_.

They had scaled the Wall together, and she had beheld the green lands of the south with him. He had told her of the Starks, descendants of the First Men, like herself, and of the great keep of Winterfell, where he had lived most of his life, though he had never felt he belonged there. _'e belonged with us_. He taught her about the kneelers, and she taught him about how men were meant to live; free, unbound by any foolish laws from some king or lord they'd never seen.

And then, that one dreadful night, everything came apart. Styr had ordered Jon to kill a kneeler; an old man they had captured, and doomed to die soon. Jon had his sword drawn, yet he had hesitated to kill him, even at her behest. So she had killed him for Jon. That's when a great direwolf had attacked. And that was when he had turned on them, cutting his way through Free Folk and Thenns alike and riding off to his crow friends. She had tried to stop him, loosing her arrows at the horse, and in her fury, at Jon as well. She had rushed after the horse, but to no avail. Jon Snow had left her.

The following morning, the wildlings burned their dead and licked their wounds. Jon and that hellhound had left nine of them dead. Del and Bodger were the only ones of the free folk to have fallen that night; the rest of the dead had been Thenns. With five and a hundred warriors, including himself, Styr ordered them north toward Castle Black. Even without the element of surprise, the gate had to fall.

"Damned crow," Styr growled, "If he gets to Castle Black, he'll wake the rest of his crow friends, and they'll come down on us. Watch for horses. If you see any with crows on them, shoot the crows off, and take the horses."

Perhaps the crows had too few men to stop them, or perhaps she Jon had succumbed to the wounds she'd inflicted on him. They saw no crows, live or dead, on their way to the Wall. She did not see any sign of Jon, either, save for some bloody arrows by the road, _her_ arrows, but no body.

They raided an underground village within sight of the Wall a couple days later. It seemed largely empty, and what few kneelers were there put up little fight. Ygritte herself killed some headstrong black-haired lad, one that bore an eerie resemblance to Jon. If the bastard was in her reach, would she kill him? _Aye, I'd rip out 'is bastard 'eart, the way 'e ripped out mine._ While they stayed a while to take what little the kneelers had left, Ygritte was uneasy.

"We should get movin'." She insisted.

"We wait until noon," Styr explained, "Then we march, reach Castle Black by nightfall. Maybe we'll catch the crows sleeping."

"And then we kill 'em?" Ygritte asked.

Styr nodded, "All of them."

Ygritte scowled, "I know. _All_ of 'em."

"Even your crow lover?" Styr prodded.

"I'll do it meself." Ygritte glared at Styr.

They started down the dirt road to the Wall around noon, marching in brooding silence. Finally, Big Boil tried to sing "The Last of the Giants."

"Shut your mouth." Ygritte growled, "Do you want the crows to 'ear us?!" With that, Big Boil shut up.

"Ygritte," Grigg the Goat asked, "What troubles you?"

"I'm fine!" She glared at him, and Grigg hurried away.

The truth was, she was troubled. Jon would be at Castle Black. If he was alive, it was the only place he would go. And if he was there... _if 'e's there, I'll kill 'im. I_ 'ave _to._ But could she? The idea of seeing him again made her stomach knot up. _But if I don't kill 'im, 'e'll kill me, 'im or some other crow._ Maybe he wouldn't kill her, but if he had loved her, why did he leave her?

They reached Castle Black early that evening. When night fell, they attacked.

It was not quite what she expected; Jon had told her all about the great castles of the south, and this did not remind her of them; it looked more like a larger village, and it didn't even have a palisade, like some of the larger villages in the North. Even so, a couple of the towers were even taller than the one by the lake, and there were several large stone buildings, larger than any hall she had seen north of the Wall. She found herself impressed merely by its size.

And the Night's Watch was ready for them. For while they had no palisades, they had makeshift barricades of casks, crates and sacks walling off the buildings. There seemed to be crows at every window and behind every barricade, and on top every tower as well. Yet it was quiet as they approached.

"Damned crow." Styr fumed, clenching his axe, "He wasn't lying after all."

"Bu' 'e said a thousan'," Errok frowned, "Tha' can't be a thousan' crows, or they'd 'ave attacked us."

"How many are there, then?" Asked Big Boil, "A hundred? Two hundred?"

"There can't be that many o' them." Ygritte responded, "Jon was lyin' about that much, I know that."

"Of course you would," Styr shot back, "You had all that crow cock to yourself. And if you'd hadn't let him go, they wouldn't be ready."

Furious, Ygritte grabbed an arrow from her quiver and nocked it. She let loose at one of the crows. The arrow struck him in the head, but he didn't fall. And no response came from Castle Black.

"By the gods, 'e's still standin'!" Quort exclaimed in alarm.

"Aye, 'e's still standin'." Ygritte concluded, "They're made of straw, like those straw crows Mance had us fight against. Now, 'o wants to kill some real crows?"

Styr grinned, and growled something in the Old Tongue as he advanced, followed by his Thenns. Ygritte nocked an arrow, and rushed after him, with the other raiders behind her.

At first, there was no signs of life from Castle Black. Then she heard the sound of horns, two successive blasts in a row. An arrow struck the dirt a few paces in front of her, then a second arrow struck a couple feet behind her. There was a yell, and Ygritte turned to see a Thenn collapse with a shaft in his head. More arrows began flying at them from the towers, and another Thenn crumpled with a grunt. Ygritte spotted a crow, nocked and arrow, shot at him, and to her delight he toppled out of sight. She shot another crow, and cursed when it didn't topple. _Straw crow._

The crows that weren't straw continued to loose arrows from their towers, and while they were few in number, they kept picking off Thenns and Free Folk with ease. There were no bowmen amongst the Thenns, but most of the raiders were good archers, and she was the best of them. The crows did not scare her.

Ygritte shot down another crow from a tower. She ducked as a shaft zipped past her, then nocked another arrow, aimed and let loose again. From a window, a crow popped out, an odd-looking short bow in hand. _Why's 'e 'oldin' it sideways?_ She shot him before he could loose, and he did not reappear. She turned, and saw a Thenn gurgle blood as he collapsed, an arrow in his throat. Another Thenn raised his shield to stop a shaft. Ygritte watched Styr lead his Thenns against the barricade. As they clamored over it, one warrior stumbled and fell, an arrow in his back. She looked up, scouring for the archer that had killed him.

On one of the towers there were a couple crows standing unnaturally still. _Straw crows_. On another, there were four crows, but only one was still. One of the crows was leaning on a crutch, aiming a longbow. On a third tower, there was another crow with a longbow, along with two straw men. She let loose toward the third tower, and the crow disappeared. Ygritte turned toward the second tower, and the crow with the crutches was still there. Then, she paused.

It was Jon.

 _So I did hurt 'im, badly. But I didn't kill 'im._ The other two didn't matter. Swiftly she knelt, drew an arrow from her quiver, and nocked it. Quickly, she raised the bow toward the tower, and pulled back the bowstring. For a few long seconds, the shaft pointed toward Jon, aiming toward his bastard heart, quivering slightly on the bow. Then, for some reason she could never explain, suddenly, she swayed the bow a little to the right, and let loose. The arrow zipped away, less than half a pace behind Jon. He didn't seem to notice at first, but then he turned toward her. Furious at herself, she rushed forward, looking away from Jon. _I can't let 'im see me._ She grabbed another arrow from her quiver, and fitted it to her bowstring. _This time I won't miss. This time-_

That's when the arrow struck her. She stumbled, and saw at the shaft protruding from her before she fell.


	2. Jon I

**JON**

His leg still burning, Jon hobbled down the King's Tower, Longclaw in his right hand, his crutch in his left.

"Is that all of them?" Satin asked, opening the door.

"I think so." Jon replied as he staggered forward to survey the scene in the courtyard. The place was littered with dead men; Thenns and brothers of the Night's Watch, along with a few of Jarl's raiders and the villagers which had died defending the Wall. Shattered ice and charred wood lay at the base of the wall, along with the broken corpses of Thenns. Styr lay spread-eagle; In front of him, the stables were still burning. Nearby were a couple more free folk, red blood staining the ground. _Or is that hair?_ He hoped it wasn't. He had slain a few of the free folk during his escape, and Ygritte hadn't been one of them. _Had she perished here?_

He had seen her briefly during the attack - if only for a heartbeat. An arrow had just shot past him, and he was scouring for the attacker when he had spotted her. He had aimed at her briefly-and as he had lowered his bow, his hand slipped and he let loose. He did not see whether the arrow had hit, but he did not see any glimpse of her again. _It could have missed her easily. She was always quick, and clever_. But if it hadn't...

"Make sure those Thenns are dead." Jon ordered, pointing to some corpses near the stables, "If any of the wildlings are alive, ask them to yield." He started hobbling forward.

"Where are you going?" Satin asked.

"To look for someone." Jon limped down the steps and toward the bodies, hoping none of them were who he thought they were. Then he thought he saw something moving nearby. Jon hurried over, as fast as he could with his good leg and a crutch. Suddenly, something knocked him over, and an attacker was on him. He could see blood briefly, then forced the wilding off him. Longclaw in hand, he knocked the blade out of his foe's hand with a swift strike, got to his feet, and lifted his sword, preparing to finish him-no, _her-_

"Missed me, Jon Snow?" Ygritte asked. There she sat, on her knees, glaring at him, an arrow protruding from her right side, leaning forward, with her left arm bracing herself. Jon lowered the blade, pointing it at her neck.

"Do you yield?" He asked.

"Aye," She answered, stiffly, "I yield."

"Does it hurt?" He asked, gesturing to the arrow, one of _his_ arrows.

"Some." She replied, glaring at him, "But I've 'ad worse scrapes."

"Can you walk?" Jon asked.

"Or what? You going t'run me through wit' that pretty sword o' yours, Jon Snow?" She asked. Sighing, he sheathed Longclaw, then grabbed her and hauled her onto his shoulders.

"Hey-PUT ME DOWN, CROW!" She screamed as he marched her off toward Maester Aemon's chambers. Furiously, she began pounding him on the back. In the past, Jon had once considered wearing Longclaw on his back, like a greatsword. He was glad he wasn't wearing it like that now; The woman he loved would probably have tried to draw it out of its scabbard and plunge it down his back right now.

He was able to endure the first couple blows from her fists, but then a jolt of pain shot through his injured leg, and he stumbled and collapsed in the snow, sending Ygritte crashing down with him.

"Bloody crow." Ygritte groaned as Jon hauled her back up.

"You're the one who shot me with that arrow that got into my leg." Jon grumbled, dragging her along.

"After you-after you left me, _crow_!" Ygritte snarled. Jon stopped in his tracks.

"Will you please shut up?!" Jon growled. That had been the hardest thing about riding back, knowing that he had left her behind. Jon had never before known another woman like her. She wasn't the first woman he had fancied; he had chaste relationships with a couple girls back at Winterfell, though he had always held himself back. None of them had ever gone anywhere, and the girls never seemed that interested in him. But Ygritte had been his first real passion; the first woman he kissed, the first woman that he had bedded, the first woman he had truly loved. And Ygritte had been the first woman who had truly loved him.

And if Ygritte started talking around some of the men, they could get the wrong idea. It was bad enough that some men already murmured "Wildling" and "Turncloak" behind his back. Donal Noye had mentioned that Jarman Buckwell had seen him riding with the wildlings, which had fueled these rumors. Jon had seen Rast die, but he was not the only enemy he had at Castle Black. _Should Ser Alliser return, he'd have a few choice remarks_.

Ygritte began mocking him, "'Will you please shut-'" Suddenly, he saw the look in his eyes, and understood, "Damn crow."

She continued to struggle as Jon hauled her to Maester Aemon's chambers, though thankfully she didn't knock him down again. He set her down on the table, and drew his sword, pointing it at her.

"We'll wait here for Master Aemon. He'll treat your leg." Jon looked out the window, watching men coming down with the winch cage.

"And then what?" Ygritte snapped.

"I don't know." Jon replied.

"You know nothing, Jon Snow." Ygritte scoffed. This time, there was more scorn in her voice, and more bitterness. _She has every reason to be bitter._

"I know one thing; I'm not going to let them hurt you." Jon answered, "They're probably put you to work, or they'll throw you in the ice cells, but you won't be raped, or hanged, or tortured." He sheathed his sword.

"And how you goin' t'do that?" Ygritte cocked her head, "You goin' t'run away wit' me?"

" _No_." Jon sighed, "I can't. I would, but I can't."

"Why not?" Ygritte shot back.

"I have a duty to defend the Wall." Jon sighed, "It is why I had to leave you, why I-"

"You didn't _'ave_ to leave me, Jon Snow." She scowled, "But you did."

"Ygritte, I didn't _want_ to leave you." Jon put his hand on her shoulder, but she shrugged him off, "Ygritte, I...forgive me, please. It was wrong, wrong to leave you."

"Then why'd you do it?" She asked, "If it was so, so wrong, why'd you abandon _me_?! Why, why-" She paused, her lower lip trembling, then bowed her head, sniffling.

"Ygritte..." Jon reached out to touch her, laying a hand on her shoulder. She forcibly shrugged it off, then smacked it away.

"D-don't, touch me, crow!" She cried, "Don't you dare touch me! You lied t'me!"

"About what?"

"About us! You-you remember what I said, by the lake? 'You're mine, and I'm yours. And if we die, we die. But first we'll live.' You remember that?"

"Yes," Jon answered, "Ygritte, I meant that."

"No, you didn't!" Ygritte sniffled, "You wouldn't 'ave left me, or, you, you-" Suddenly, with her good leg, she kicked at Jon, striking his wounded leg. He stumbled, succumbing to the blow.

"ACH, YGRITTE!" Jon groaned. He rose.

"Be thankful I can't move," Ygritte growled, "I'd cut your balls off if I could, crow." She kicked toward Jon again, narrowly missing him. It was at that moment that the door opened, and Satin stuck his head in.

"Uh, Jon?" He asked, glancing at Ygritte, "What are you doing with that wildling?"

"This is Ygritte," Jon sighed, "She...I owe her."

"She a wildling?" Satin backed off, "Wait, Jon, you didn't...you-"

"Yes, he fucked me. You jealous, crow?" She growled. Satin glanced at Ygritte, then at Jon.

"Is Maester Aemon down yet?" Jon asked.

"Uh, he might be." Satin nodded.

"Go find him," Jon ordered, "And bring him here. Tell him we have a prisoner whose wounds need tending." With that, Satin glanced briefly at Jon and Ygritte, then closed the door, and hurried away. As soon as the steward was gone, Jon turned back to Ygritte. She was wiping her face when she turned to glare at Jon.

"Here," Jon fumbled about for milk of the poppy, "You want the maester to fix your leg?" Ygritte stayed silent, wiping her eyes, "Take this; it'll dull the pain."

"I'm not drinkin' _that_." She glared at him, "You got any willow bark?"

" _Drink._ " Jon insisted, "It's perfectly safe, Maester Aemon gave me some after I returned." He drank a little from the jug, then offered it to Ygritte. She scowled, then took the jug. Cautiously, she sipped some of it, then set it back down, scowling in disgust.

"So, Jon Snow, what now?" She asked.

"I don't know." Jon replied.

Aemon arrived moments later, and they treated her injuries. Ygritte balked initially, but Jon's reassurances did seem to calm her down enough for the maester to clean and bind her wounds. He gave her more milk of the poppy, so Jon left.

Afterward, Jon lay on his cot in his cell, exhausted from the battle, trying to figure out what to do. Ygritte was alive, yes, but he had still sworn a vow to the Night's Watch. _I shall take no wife, hold no lands, father no children._ He couldn't run away with her, especially not now, with Mance's host bearing down on the Wall. _I am the shield that guards the realms of Men._ Should Mance's host break through, they would descend upon the defenseless North.

And even if he did want to flee south with her, what was there for them? There was nowhere on the Gift they could go where the Night's Watch wouldn't eventually find them. Winterfell was broken and ruined, and Robb and his army were still fighting below the Neck. Ironborn still held some of the western shores. And there were stories of flayed men terrorizing the lands around the Dreadfort.

 _Besides, I was never a Stark, only a Snow._ Winterfell was Robb's, and there would be no place for him there. Lady Catelyn had always made sure he knew. Whenever guests came, she had often hidden him from view, especially southerners. If he returned and she was there, Catelyn would turn him over to the headsman in a heartbeat. His father might have been more accepting, but Lord Eddard was dead. Arya, who he had used to muss her hair, had gone south with him, but she was still missing; what had become of her after their father's death, he did not know. He worried for her, and for Sansa, though she was always distant because of his status. Bran never seemed to mind that Jon was a bastard, and neither did Rickon, but both were dead, murdered by Theon Greyjoy. _If I ever see that wretch again..._

There was a knocking.

"Come in," Jon Snow spoke. In marched Castle Black's one-armed blacksmith, Donal Noye.

"I saw her." Donal spoke.

"Who?" Jon asked.

"Don't play dumb with me, Jon." Donal snorted, "The wildling girl, the one with red hair. Your former lover, who shot you full of arrows."

"Ygritte." Jon spoke, "Is she alright?"

"Looks like it." Donal nodded, then he sighed, "You know you can't keep her."

 _"_ I know that." Jon replied, "But I owe it to her. She kept me alive north of the Wall, and got me this far, and-" Jon paused, "We can keep her in an ice cell, along with the other captives. I'll be on the Wall, watching for Mance, away from her, and I'll sleep in the warming shed."

Donal shrugged, "That's good, it'd be harder for you to sneak in and warm you bed."

"You're not going to execute her, are you?" Jon asked.

Donal snorted, "We'll keep her alive, but not for your sake. We can't trust the wildlings to fight for us, but they can help clear out some of the rubble they made. We can start by having them burn the dead."

Jon nodded, "Good. She'll agree to that, at least." He paused, "No one's going to touch her?"

Donal nodded, "Aye, no one'll touch any of them."

Jon paused, then asked, "Would it be possible to...settle them somewhere? Once Mance has been defeated."

"Like where?" Donal asked.

"The Gift." Jon suggested, "There's only three of them, and there are few people living on the land as well."

Donal scratched his chin, "I'll think about it. They're still wildlings, but we need more men. Especially considering what's out there. But I can't promise you anything, Jon." He paused, "You aren't thinking of running off with her, are you, Jon?"

"No." Jon replied, "My place is here."

"Good," Donal nodded, "How soon do you think we have?"

"I don't know." Jon replied, "Maybe a week or so. Mance probably expects Styr to have dealt with us. Once he finds out the truth, though, he'll still try to storm the Wall."

"So do you think we'll be able to surprise them?"

"Maybe. But Mance may have wargs."

"Wargs?" Donal was obviously not convinced, "You're sure?"

"Aye," Jon replied, "If any of them fly over Castle Black in an eagle, they'll know we're still here. But they're still on the other side of the Wall. We can hold them."

"Aye," Donal nodded, "I don't see we have much of a choice in the matter, if we want to live. Bowen Marsh better not dawdle."


	3. Ygritte II

**YGRITTE**

The ice cells were built into the Wall, and as such were cold as the Frostfangs many leagues north. They had given Ygritte a thin black wool blanket, but her furs had always kept her warm in the cold.

Her leg was feeling better. The old crow-the maester, Jon had called him-came in every day to change her bandages. She didn't fight him, as she knew he was helping her. _I probably won't slit the old man's throat when we get out of 'ere._ It was the only thing keeping her sane; the knowledge that Mance would come, sooner or later, and there were too few crows to stop him.

The only company Ygritte had were Big Boil and Lenn in the adjacent cells; Big Boil had been injured, and Lenn had been cornered and yielded. There was not much to talk about, except Big Boil complaining about his injured leg. _At least 'e's finally shut up about that boil on 'is arse._ The direwolf had apparently slashed it off his hind during Jon's escape.

She had seen Styr fall to his death, and all of his Thenns had been slain. The rest of the free folk that had climbed the Wall with her were dead as well. Grigg the Goat, who sought to visit the Isle of Faces one day. Stone Thumbs, one of the best climbers north of the Wall. Henk the Helm, whose most prized possession was a steel helmet he'd taken off a crow he'd killed when he was one and ten. Errok, one of the few raiders who could have come close to matching her skill with a bow. Good raiders, tough fighters, loyal friends, all dead. _More loyal than that bastard_. And yet, Jon could have easily gutted her, but he had spared her, again. She could not say whether he was merciful or cruel for letting her live.

The cell was only five by five feet; not enough room to stand up fully, and not enough room to lie down fully either. Sometimes she would sleep curled up in a corner, other days she would just sit against the walls and sleep like that. More often than not, she found herself moving about in what little room she had.

The first few days in the cell, none of her captors talked to her. They simply brought the prisoners food, slid it into the cell, and marched off. It was all cold, hard bread, with some cold ale as well and the occasional cold greens. Lenn had asked for meat once or twice, but no meat of any sort ever appeared.

The crows put the other two to work a couple days later, and a couple days after that, her leg was deemed healed enough for her to work. It was a welcome relief from the confines of her cell, but she was still under guard. Lenn told her that the first day, they had help gather the wildling and Thenn bodies and burn them. The villagers had protested they wanted to bury their own dead, but those were burned, too. _Smart crows_.

As soon as the dead were burned, they were set to helping the villagers in clearing rubble from the battle. Some crows would watch them at work, others would simply ignore them. No one touched her, but no one talked to her, either. She did as she was ordered grudgingly, her body still aching from wounds. One of the tougher looking crows, a rough-looking fat man with one arm, watched over them all. He bellowed out orders to everyone in the yard. When one of the others crows looked to be exposing himself to them, the big man had told him off so fiercely that he fled the yard. After that, none of them had tried to do anything to her, and if it looked like they might, one arm would stare them down. Some of the crows made still lewd remarks, but again, one look from the tough crow tended to shut them up.

At Mance's camp, there was always the risk of some man forcing himself on her, which is why she always carried a sharp knife. Here, though, she had no weapon. But the crows seemed almost intimated by her. _Got no balls, this lot._ And the one-armed crow had insisted they not be harmed. It was apparent he was the leader, yet he wasn't dressed in silk or fine furs or metal clothes like the stories she had heard about southern lords and knights. He ruled through will and strength. _Almost like Mance._

She never saw Jon. Whether he was sulking at the top of the Wall, or merely hiding from her in one of the intact buildings, she could not say. She didn't bother asking about him, either. On the seventh day in her cell, a crow about Jon's age, with a broad neck and brown beard, brought them food. He deposited the other two's bread without a word, but after setting down the food in front her, he looked up at her and asked, "You're, uh, Ygritte?"

She snapped her gaze toward the crow, "Aye, who're you, crow?"

"Grenn." The crow responded, "You're Jon's…uh, friend, right?"

"Why?" She shot back, "What's he said about me, crow?"

The crow, Grenn took a step back, "Not much, he mentioned you a few times," he paused, "But he said you saved his life. Twice. That the other wildlings would have killed him if you hadn't stopped them." He paused again, "I guess I wanted to thank you, for helping him get back to us."

Ygritte grunted, "And you'd be wantin' me to spread my legs for you, like I did for 'im?"

Grenn looked almost puzzled. "No, not really." He smiled a little then, "He doesn't like talking about that to us at least. He almost felt, ashamed, really. I tried telling him that men of the Watch sneak off to Molestown all the time, but he got angry at that. He said...he said you were different."

"Molestown?"

"It was the one village just south of Castle Black, the one you-Well, the one you past on your way here."

"Why do they sneak off there?"

"Because of the girls."

"I thought you crows weren't allowed t'fuck girls."

"Well, the men go anyway. The officers don't mind that much; we just can't have a wife or children."

"Did Jon ever go there?"

"Never. Still hasn't been. One of the girls, Zei, offered to warm him up, but he refused her."

For some reason, she asked, "How's 'is leg?"

"It's still healing. Maester Aemon says it'll be at least another fortnight before it'll be fully healed." The crow started to walk away, but then turned back to her, "I need to go now. Do you want me to tell Jon anything?"

Her voice was flat, "No."

"Are you sure?" Grenn asked.

"Aye, I'm sure, crow." She shot back.

"Well, Jon says he hopes you're doing well." The crow turned and hurried away. Ygritte waited until he was gone before she started eating.

The two days that followed were uneventful. There was more rubble to be cleared, and more shivering at night. Finally, on the morning of the third day, if it were the morning hours, Jon finally showed his face, along with the fat crow lord from the yard.

"You!" She demanded, furious, "What do you want, crow?!"

"Ygritte," Jon began, "Calm down-"

"'Calm down?!'" She slammed her hands against the bars of her cell, rattling them as she gripped the cold metal, "Let me out of 'ere, Jon Snow. Or if you're still livin' when Mance comes, 'e'll skin you alive!" Jon gently put his hands on Ygritte's clenched around the bars, but she pulled away violently at his touch.

"Was she always like this?" The fat crow asked.

"No," Jon replied, "Not when we were alone."

The fat crow scoffed, "If you think I'll let you in the cell alone with her-

"That's not what I meant." Jon answered, sadly, "She was always fierce, a good fighter. But that's not the only thing that drew me to you." He was talking only to her now, "Ygritte, I'm sorry that we've had to put you in here. I can get you out after-"

"Out?!" Ygritte spat, "You know nothin', Jon Snow. I wouldn't be 'ere, trapped in this cell, if it weren't for you!" She rattled the bars again.

"You wouldn't be alive if it weren't for him." The fat crow said, "I didn't really see the use in three more mouths to feed, but Jon insisted. Now, Mance is coming. We need to know what he's got planned-"

"So you can kill more o' the Free Folk?" Ygritte scoffed, "You can't save your Wall. You can't stop us, and even if you could..." She paused, shivering. They wouldn't believe her if she told the crows about _them_ : the blue-eyed demons of the cold, or the dead men in the night. Jon knew about the dead, but did he know of their masters?

"What? You don't have the Horn. What should we fear?" Jon asked.

She frowned, "The cold winds are risin', Jon Snow. You might want t'let the Free Folk pass in peace."

"Why?" Donal snorted.

 _He doesn't know._ "Do you know what lies in the north, crow, the _far_ north?"

Donal shrugged, "The Haunted Forest, the Frostfangs, more snow, and that is all."

Jon was sharper, "That's not what she means."

"Aye," Ygritte nodded, "Wait till you see the dead rise." The fat crow turned pale.

"What do you mean?" Donal demanded, "Are you saying Mance has some _sorcery?!_ " Ygritte didn't bother to respond. _And I thought Jon was soft in the 'ead._ If the Free Folk could control the wights, why would they be running from them?

"If you want t'live, you'll let us pass. Or else, when winter comes, see 'ow long your lot'll last 'gainst the dead, and their masters." Both Jon and Donal turned pale.

There weren't many visits after that. Perhaps she had scared Jon off.

One morning, if it was morning, she thought she faintly heard two horn blasts outside. After that, the crows seldom came, not even to give the prisoners food. She asked what was happening when someone did finally come with food a few days later, but he hurried away without answering. The next day, another crow did come with food. When she asked him, he replied with only one word; "Mance."

A few days after she thought she heard the two horn blasts, the crows dragged two more prisoners into the cell. She was groggy with sleep when she heard the sound of boots, and saw a couple men with torches. Behind them were several men dragging prisoners: one a wildling, but the other was another crow. The wildling was moved past him, but at her cell, they stopped with the crow prisoner.

"Should we throw the traitor in with his whore?" One of the crows asked.

"Aye," A steely voice responded, "He can fuck her all he likes, then we'll hang them both." With that, the man in black was flung into the cell. As soon as the other crows had left, Ygritte looked at her new companion, and took a sharp breath.

"Jon?" She asked, surprised. He looked up at her.

"Ygritte, I'm sorry."

"Jon, what happened?"

"Some men from the Watch came." He explained, "They think I'm a traitor." He sounded disbelieving.

A couple days later, they came for Jon.


	4. Donal I

**DONAL**

A fierce wind blew in from the north as Donal Noye stepped out of the winch cage, and marched toward the icy battlements. Groggy with sleep, he had been dreaming of warm summers long gone when he heard the two blasts. _At least it's not three._ The stories he had heard about the Fist, along with the bits of talk picked up from rangers, and that night with the blue-eyed corpses... _The Starks are indeed right. Winter_ is _coming._

He had come to the Wall because he had no better use; Stannis had offered him a place as his smith on Dragonstone when he was given the island, but Donal had declined; there was always something off about that place, and besides, the Lord of Dragonstone would need a smith with more than one arm. Renly said as much, and would not have him at Storm's End. So instead he came to the Wall, for he knew that the Night's Watch always needed smiths like him.

Upon arrival, however, he realized just how badly they needed a man like himself. The brotherhood had been falling apart; they were short on food, clothing, weapons, and other necessities, only three of the nineteen castles were manned, and there were only fifteen hundred brothers to defend the Wall. Less than a hundred were of noble birth, and over half of them had been men who sided with the Mad King, along with a few men-at-arms who had fought for Aerys. The majority of the Night's Watch, though, were common criminals or peasant boys with no better option.

That had been sixteen years ago. Now the Watch had fallen into greater disrepair, with desertions and wildling raids taking a toll on the men of the Watch faster than they could replace them. And now the wildlings had united behind a King Beyond The Wall. _Wildlings, and worse things_.

On on the parapets, Jon was waiting.

"I've already launched some barrels of pitch," Jon reported, "It should give us some light down there."

"What have we got?" Donal asked.

"Mance's whole host." Jon pointed toward the expanse. In the darkness far below, Donal could make out the tiny flickering light of torches. Amidst the fires from the barrels of pitch, one could see numerous small figures moving through the darkness. _Wildlings_.

"Gods be good," One mole gasped, "There's hun'reds of 'em." _Not hundreds, many_ thousands _at least._ The full fury of the wild was bearing down on Castle Black and its forty odd defenders.

"Shit." Red Alyn said.

"How do we fight them all?" Grenn asked.

"There's only one way they can pass through the wall-the Gate." Jon replied, "As long as we're up here, what can they do to us? Have you ever seen a mammoth climb a wall? Or a giant? They may be big, they may be great in number, but what good are they if they can't even reach us?"

"They're harmless!" Pyp shouted out.

The wildlings came on. For every one they seemed to kill, five more materialized out of the darkness. And they kept getting closer and closer to the gate.

"Alright," Donal pointed to five men, "You, you, you, and you two, with me." He turned to Jon, "The Wall is yours, Jon."

"My lord?" Jon asked.

Donal scoffed, "I'm no lord. I said, the Wall is yours."

"Aye," Jon replied quietly.

Down they went on the winch-chain. Gradually, Castle Black grew out of the darkness before them. As they came closer, it became evident some of the damage had yet to be repaired; there was still a gaping hole in the armory roof, and the stables hadn't been rebuilt. But there hadn't been enough time to patch everything up with so few men and so little resources to spare. As soon as the cage set down, the men rushed out.

The only way through the Wall was the crooked tunnel of ice, narrow enough that rangers had to lead their garrons single file when departing on rangings. Three gates of thick oak studded with steel blocked the entrance, and heavy iron bars braced all three. The first two were up, but the third was shut when Donal and his men arrived. As they approached the portcullis, they could hear shouting outside, and banging on the gate. The pounding was erratic and dull, not the slow rhythm of a battering ram. _Are they trying to hack their way through?_ Even with axes of castle-forged steel, it would take hours to break the gate down. And the wildlings would most likely be carrying weapons of poorer quality.

"The gate will hold, will it?" Asked Cooper, a short-haired blonde steward. His crossbow trembled in his hands.

"It should hold against any band of wildling thugs, lad." Donal replied grimly, "Even if they do somehow smash a way in, those iron bars will stop them." _Against a giant, though…_ Jon Snow had warned him that Mance had giants, and how despite their low intelligence, they were not to be trifled with. Donal had never seen one, though he knew of them from what tales rangers had once brought back from beyond the Wall.

 _They aren't the only terrors beyond the Wall._ Over the past year, there had been multiple unexplained disappearances during rangings. Waymar Royce, though green as summer grass, had been sent out with two veteran rangers to investigate, and he and Will were still missing; Gared had apparently deserted and been beheaded near Winterfell. Benjen Stark and several other men had set out to find Royce and Will shortly thereafter, and just two bodies had been recovered, only to rise in the night and attack Castle Black. Donal had seen the _thing_ that had been Jafer Flowers stab Ser Jaremy to death, _after_ the knight had taken off its head. After that, Donal had been one of the men who had helped dismember the wight. The Old Bear had taken two hundred men from Castle Black into the wilds a couple weeks later. A few moons after that, only fifteen had returned, the survivors speaking of dead men swarming the Fist of the First Men. And what Jon's prisoner had told him didn't assure Donal. _If the wildlings have aligned with such a power..._

Suddenly, there was a dull _thud_ at the gates, followed by another _thud_ , and another. With each thud, the gate visibly shook, chains rattling with each blow.

"Is, is that a battering ram?" Spotted Pate asked, "It, it sounds like a big ram."

Donal tried to reassure the men, "Don't worry, boys, they probably can't get through..." Then something cracked loudly, echoing throughout the tunnel. It was followed by a louder _CRACK_ as a wooden brace before them fractured in two.

"Mother have mercy," Cooper gulped, "Oh, Mother have mercy." Donal looked at his men; three spears, and two crossbowmen. If the gates were breached, could they fight off whatever came through? The bars could keep the wildlings at a distance, but they could still stab through them.

"Night gathers," Donal began, "And now my watch begins. It shall not-"

There was another _CRACK,_ and suddenly, the gates came crashing down with a horrendous smash and creaking of metal. But much of the light streaming into the tunnel was blocked by the massive shape of what could only be a giant. The creature towered over twelve feet, and the shaggy hair that covered its body was grey going white. Its arms were as thick as its legs, and its head sat between its shoulders. _An old beast, but powerful_. It was more bearlike than Donal had imagined a giant being, and more terrifying.

"SHOOT AT WILL!" Donal bellowed. The two crossbows, Cooper and Smitty, shot off both bolts. They struck the giant's chest, yet the greying beast barely noticed it as it surged forward, bellowing in rage.

" _SPEARS_!" Donal shouted as he drew his sword. Bellowing in fury, the giant crashed into the portcullis, shaking the grille. It gripped the iron bars, and begin to wrench them apart, metal screaming in protest. The three spearmen charged forward, stabbing through the bars at the giant. Two more bolts struck the beast as it roared in fury, then a couple more as the giant finally tore the bars apart. With its powerful arms, the beast smashed one of the spearmen against an intact bar with a sickening _crunch_. It grabbed Spotted Pate, by the head and squeezed.

"PICK UP THOSE SPEARS AND _KILL_ IT!" Donal ordered the crossbowmen as he charged forward, swiping at the giant's arm. The creature had already smashed the last spearman with its fist as its head turned toward the one-armed blacksmith, reaching toward him. Without hesitation, Donal swung his sword forward at the creature's throat. The blade ripped through the creature's sagging skin, and blood spewed into Donal's face, sending the armorer staggering backwards. For a few seconds everything was _red_ , then as he wiped the blood of his face, he saw the creature lurch forward and collapse in front of him, arms still thrashing at the ground. Donal took a step back and thrust his blade downward, piercing the creature's skull. The beast gave a final shudder, and was still.

"Gods be good." Donal panted. _It could have been my body lying on the ice._

"S-Seven s-save us," Cooper carefully approached the body of the giant, blood pooling near the head, "Seven save us." Suddenly, an arrow shot by him. Donal ripped his sword out of the giant, and rushed forward as another arrow shot past his shoulder. The corpse of the giant blocked most of the opening in the portcullis, but a couple wildlings were trying to squeeze their way through.

"Other side!" Donal shouted. He charged forward, stabbing one in the chest as he emerged from the other side, then pinning his arm to the giant with his sword. Grabbing a rusty blade that the dying wildling had dropped, he rushed over to the other side of the dead giant. More wildlings were coming. He heard Cooper screaming in pain.

"FUCK YOU!" A wildling screamed as he swung his blade past Donal's missing arm. Donal backed away, and shoved his sword into the foe's belly. After that, everything devolved into a blur of blood and screaming. Cooper fell, then the other steward.

Donal's next coherent memory of the fight was standing over the last of the wildlings he had slain, then he had stumbled. The next thing he knew, he was lying on the ice, and his body was aching. Jon was standing over him, along with Pypar with a torch.

"Are you alright, Donal?" Jon asked, concerned, and offered his arm.

"Aye, Jon," Donal responded, and grabbed it. Jon hauled him upward, and the smith looked around.

The corridor was slick with blood, and dead wildlings lay all about, alongside Donal's companions. Pyp glanced at Spotted Pate, and started retching.

Jon looked pale, "Did…"

"Giant," Donal finished, grimacing at the spearman with his head partially through the iron bar, "But I reckon it could've been a lot worse. I don't know what you did up there, Jon, but I reckon you must have killed enough of them to stop the bastards from overwhelming us."

"I'll send a couple brothers down here." Jon suggested, "You could use the company."

"Aye," Donal glanced around, "We should start blocking off this section the tunnel with whatever we can get our hands on. Rubble, ice, corpses."

"Not with the wildlings." Jon suggested.

"Not with the wildlings". Donal agreed.

Jon looked at the dead giant, "This was Mag the Mighty."

Donal had never reckoned giants had names, "Was he their lord or something?"

"No." Jon replied, "'Giants have no kings, no more than bears.' One of the wildlings taught me that. But he was the oldest of their race."

After that, the wildlings attacked again and again, but each time they were beaten off before they could reach the Wall itself. It was only two weeks after the first assault that another attack seriously threatened the gate. This time the wildlings came with a wooden tortoise, like the ones Mace Tyrell had built during the Siege of Storm's End.

With only two brothers with him, Donal knew he could not hope to hold the gate should the wildlings smash through the rubble. At best, they could only take some with them, and delay the wildlings long enough for more men to arrive and set up another barricade, or possibly seal off the tunnel. _And if we fail in that_ , _then all would have been for naught._

Peaking out through the makeshift barricade, Donal watched as the tortoise crawled toward the Wall. They had built a couple narrow slits into the barricade, from which archers could shoot out of, and they could observe the wildlings.

The turtle crawled on. Arrows didn't stop it, neither did a hail of stones.

"I thought the wildlings were all savages." Cadwick, one of his companions frowned.

"Not all of them." Donal told the steward, "Of course, I hear Mance was one of us once."

"You got any ideas on how to stop that?" The other man, Jack, asked.

"Well," Donal said, "We could try-" Moments later, a barrel-like block of ice crashed into the turtle, cracking the roof. Wildlings scrambled out as the contraption collapsed, stopped in front of the gates, "Or of course, there is that."

When Jon came down from the Wall, Donal greeted him at the winch-cage.

"Good job, Snow." He nodded, "Thanks of saving my other arm."

Jon nodded, then looked puzzled, "Your other arm?"

"Aye." Donal nodded, "When Mace Tyrell besieged us, he waited a month before he got impatient, and tried to storm the castle. He came with a tortoise at night, and almost breached the gates before we destroyed it with boulders. That's when I took an axe blow to my arm. More of a scrape, really, but it festered, and you know the rest."

"I see."

"Who has the Wall?"

"Pyp."

"Good. Get some rest, Jon. You've earned it."

"You sure you don't want some company?"

Donal smiled wanly, "I'm sure."

Early the next morning, there was a commotion which woke him up. Donal was rising from the bed when Hareth, one of the moles still remaining, rushed into the armory.

"What in Seven Hells is it?" Donal asked, groaning.

"It's Jon. They're taking him away!" Hareth replied, all panicked.

"Who?!" That shook Donal fully awake.

"Some more men of the Watch. They came from Eastwatch, and they started asking the maester all sorts of questions. I had to wake him up, you see. But I saw some men dragging away Jon!"

"Oh, Seven Hells." Donal groaned as he got up. He stumbled out of bed, quickly dressed, and headed out the door. Whatever this was, it wasn't good. The only man outside Castle Black who knew about Jon had been Jarman Buckwell, and he had fallen at the Bridge of Skulls. _Could someone have gotten the wrong idea_?

Outside, it was dark, but there was light coming from the Lord Commander's tower. _That's odd._ _We haven't had an election, yet why is there someone in Mormont's old chambers at this hour?_ He hurried up to find a bored man-at-arms from Eastwatch guarding the door.

"Who are you?" The man asked.

"Donal Noye." The armorer responded, "I am acting castellan of Castle Black." The man-at-arms grunted, and stood aside as the armorer barreled in.

He found Jon flanked by two guards. Nearby, Ser Stout slept, a half-drunk Septon Cellador leaned against a chair, and Maester Aemon fretted next to him. Ser Alliser Thorne stood there, immaculate as ever, and sitting at the Lord Commander's table was a jowly, frog-faced man he did not know, dressed in black finery.

"Who are you?" The jowly face man glared at Donal.

"Donal Noye, current castellan of Castle Black." Donal replied, "Now, what in Seven Hells is-"

" _M'lord!"_ The man snapped, "I am Janos Slynt, Lord of Harrenhal, and commander here at Castle Black until such time as Bowen Marsh returns. You will both address me as _m'lord_ and Ser Alliser as _ser._ "

"Lord of Harrenhal?" Donal scoffed, "Forgive me, _my lord_ , but I have never heard of you, nor of your house. Now, what is the meaning of this?" Slynt reminded him more of a butcher than a lord.

Janos glared at him, "And what would some lowly _blacksmith_ know of the high lords of Westeros?"

"I forged Robert Baratheon's hammer." Donal frowned, "I lost my arm fighting alongside Stannis Baratheon at Storm's End. And I've been holding Castle-"

"A friend of Stannis as acting castellan of Castle Black, alongside another traitor's bastard?" Janos spat, "The Night's Watch has indeed fallen low, if it allows such to rise so high." He glanced at Donal, then at Jon.

Jon began, "My father was no traitor-"

"You insolent pup! King Robert was-"

"That's enough!" Donal snapped, "Need I remind you there's a _wildling horde_ on our doorstep?!"

"A wildling rabble that has not been dispersed." Janos sneered.

"Excuse me?" Donal glared at the newcomer, "Do you know how many wildlings sit outside our gates?" Noble-born were rare at the Wall of late, but of the ones that did come, most brought their arrogance and pettiness. That Tarly boy had been a welcome exception, but he did not returned from the ranging, nor did many good men of equal and lower birth. _Instead, we're left with the likes of this._ "Now, will someone tell me what in Seven Hells is going on?"

Janos turned red, "How dare either of you question my authority! Janos Slynt will not suffer such slights, no, he won't!"

"Just tell me what is going on!" Donal demanded.

Alliser nodded toward Jon, "It's the bastard, Jon Snow. He murdered Qhorin Halfhand and turned his cloak."

"What?!" Donal shook his head, "Me and Maester Aemon already discussed this; If Jon had turned his cloak, he wouldn't have returned to Castle Black warn us of the attack!"

"Why are there still three wildlings left alive, then?" Alliser demanded, "Including a whore Lord Snow fucked multiple times?"

"She's no whore, _ser."_ Jon answered, testily.

"I'll be the judge of that, Lord Snow." Thorne said.

"Ser Glendon." Janos demanded, "Bring in the prisoner." Two men dragged in a battered wildling, fettered hand and foot.

"Rattleshirt." Jon frowned.

They threw the prisoner on the floor, and Lord Slynt frowned, pointing at Jon, "Is this the one you spoke of?"

The captive blinked, "Aye, he's the craven killed the Halfhand. Up in the Frostfangs, it were, after we hunted down t'other crows and killed them, every one. We would have done for this one, too, only he begged f' his worthless life, offered t'join us if we'd have him. The Halfhand swore he'd see the craven dead first, but the wolf ripped Qhorin half t'pieces and this one opened his throat."

"Well," Janos demanded, "Do you deny it? Or will you claim Qhorin commanded you to kill him?"

"He told me..." Jon hesitated, Donal could tell it pained him, "He told me to do _whatever_ they asked of me."

Janos looked at the other Eastwatch men, "Does this boy think I fell off a turnip wagon onto my head?" It was madness, sheer madness.

"Our garrons were failing, and Rattleshirt would have killed us anyway." Jon said, "Qhorin thought that if I turned, I could discover Mance's plans-"

"How stupid does this boy think I am?" Janos scoffed.

"You'd trust the word of this wildling over Jon?" Donal pointed at the man, "None of the rangers ever said anything good about this Rattleshirt." The wildling glared at Donal.

"He's a bastard." Janos frowned, "And a _Stark_ bastard at that. The blood is false."

"And your blood is common." Donal muttered.

"Excuse me?" Janos sneered, then turned to his men, "Take him away!" For half a second, Donal feared they meant to come for him. Instead, they simply dragged Jon off.

Janos Slynt had single-handedly thrown Castle Black into chaos. Ser Wynton Stout was in no condition to assert his nominal authority; he had been asking when Lord Qorgyle would return two days ago. But few of the defenders respected Slynt; he had apparently not made many friends at Eastwatch, and he was only a lord because he had helped the Lannisters against Lord Eddard.

Fortunately, the wildlings didn't attack that day, or the three days after that. Janos boasted about how his coming had intimidated them, but Donal was unconvinced. _More like, they are exhausted, and weary of dying_. Men from the Seven Kingdoms may have continued the attack, but not the wildlings. _They lack discipline. That, or they're plotting some new machinations to overcome the Wall._

On the fourth day, a lone rider came out, asking to parley. Almost immediately, Jon was dragged out of the ice cells.

"So, apparently we cannot hang you." Slynt scowled at Jon, "That dotard Aemon wrote to Cotter Pyke, and he has the gall to show me a letter saying so." _Thank the Gods for Aemon Targaryen, then._ "However, that doesn't mean we're through with you, bastard."

"What do you mean?" Jon asked.

"Mance sent out an envoy to treat with us." Alliser said, "We're sending one back-you."

"Me?" Jon paled, "Mance suspected me from the start. If you want to negotiate-"

"We're not sending you to treat with him," Ser Alliser said, "We're sending you to kill him. Without a leader, they'll disperse and go back to killing each other."

Donal gaped, "Are you mad? You send Jon out there, he won't come back."

Alliser's voice was steel, "You'll go, or the whore will hang." Jon turned pale, "Maybe I might try this wildling bitch for myself."

Donal frowned. Throne had laid a devious trap. The smith and Aemon had enough influence to keep Throne and Slynt from killing Jon themselves, but Thorne knew Jon as an honorable man. And what protection could anyone extend to Jon's wildling?

Jon hesitated, thinking. What choice did he have now?

"Alright, then," Thorne said, "We'll pass her around the garrison-"

"I'll go." Jon said.

"I'll go, _m'lord!"_ Slynt snapped.

Standing on the battlements, Donal watched Jon set forth on his doomed mission to treat with Mance. He watched as the wildling outriders took him in, and lead him off into the camp.

A few minutes later, he heard the sound of trumpets.


End file.
